#6 Two Goodbyes

A dear sweet 94-yo man passed away this weekend, and his funeral was today. Clyde Young was a member of the Civitan Club of Salisbury for seventy years. Yes, you read that correctly. He joined the club in 1947.
Thirty of us Civitans  crowded in the front rows of the church for his service. Women and men, most of us past a certain age, all dressed up and paying homage to a kind man who just loved to play his trumpet.
He was a pediatric dentist so early that dentistry barely knew what that was. He served in the Navy in WWII. He was a kind man and a good dad.
Me, I'm not too sure about the Great Beyond. Luckily I can't sing so I didn't have to make professions I don't believe. But I try to get what I can out of every experience and today's message was the simplest of all: Life is a gift. Try to share your gift with as many as you can.

I dashed from the 11:00 funeral to the 12:00 Transit Board meeting: my last as Council liaison. To my surprise, they had a nice little luncheon and cake (my favorite vegetable!) in my honor. One member had written a letter and stood to read it to me. The Director gave a little message about me, too, and presented me with a gift: 100 bus passes for our annual Christmas giveaway at the homeless shelter.

I left feeling very loved and appreciated. Life is a gift.

#5 A New Council

Today marked another major step in my transition from Council member to private citizen. The next new Council was elected.
Determined to exit gracefully, I did not endorse anyone. To the dozens of people who asked me whom to vote for, I politely declined.
We had the right to vote for 5 people to serve on Council, but I found only four who deserved my vote. All four were elected. Best of all, my friend Al Heggins came in first and should be selected as Mayor, if our Council honors the city’s centuries-old tradition.
I couldn’t be prouder of Al. She stayed on the high road, steadfastly refusing to say a negative word about her competitors. She tirelessly knocked on doors, even as late as the night before the election. She ran a clean, strong campaign — and she won.
At the December 5 meeting, I step down — and she swears in. Life doesn’t get much better than that.
#LoveMyLife

#4 Appreciation and Beef Bourguignon

I was awakened this morning by a text from a friend: "Great letter from A.R. Should b whole page full!"
Turned out a citizen had written a letter to the editor in the local paper recognizing some things I had done and lamenting my imminent departure from Council. I have to admit it was a great way to wake up.
J and I traveled to Winston-Salem and shopped at Whole Foods for the better part of the afternoon. I made beef bourguignon for the first time ever tonight, and it was amazing. Yes, I drank some of the cabernet as I cooked -- but J loved it, too, and he didn't have any. So there.

#3 Globe

J and I started our day riding our bikes to the Farmers’ Market, then to the downtown bike shop. He cooked a yummy dinner and we watched a Netflix show about a hotel in Singapore.
It’s been a little chilly so we’ve had the tiniest fire in the fireplace.
We are closing out the night learning all about India on Globe Trekkers.
It’s a big world out there. How much more will we see in our lifetime?

#2 Sanity

As I get older, I find that sanity is a highly underrated commodity. We don't say thanks for it when we say Grace. We don't acknowledge it when we see it. It's a lot like a clean house: we only notice it when it's NOT there.

My life is much like yours, jammed to bursting with work and friends and family and a zillion meetings where action is sometimes taken, but more often just talked about. In-between, I struggle to accomplish the mundane but necessary tasks: checkups for me and the family with doctor, dentist, and eye physician. Calendars. Carpools. Laundry. Pet care. Litter boxes. Unload the dishwasher. Eat. Load and run. Repeat.

In-between those, comes self-care: showers, hair, makeup, caring for contacts, reading, philosophizing, mani's and pedi's.

I find the older I get, the more I need to take a few moments every day for quiet. No surfing. No reading. Not even a quiet little podcast. Quiet, calm, and still. Four measly minutes a day.

Ah, sanity.

#1. Returning to Normal. If we can remember what Normal is.

I have not posted to my dear Blog in over seven years. Is this a sign? Are there other things in my life I've neglected for seven years?
With only 31 days left of public service, I've begun transitioning to normal life. With intention.
I've written letters to the people who helped me make public service successful. The street hole guy. The Fire Chief. The City Clerk. Lots of friends who held fundraisers, pulled up campaign signs, that kind of thing.
I've planned a retreat for the week after I "step down." A week by myself in my favorite city. A couple of private art classes. Yoga. Art galleries, long walks, weather permitting.
I've attended the last meetings of my boards & commissions. They had cake. Little gifts.
So.... deep breath. It's happening. This whirlwind life, being "on," being available to the public, is coming to an end. Soon.
After eight years, it has become my normal.
But--
It's not normal.
Normal is normal.
Privacy. Not being approached in public places about problems. Not getting texts or voice mails when someone is shot or killed. Going to market without pearls on.
Will I miss it? Certainly.
But it's soon over. And I have surely missed normal.
So this blog, this dormant blog, is about to fire up.
In a nice way.
Someone I admire has blogged every day for years, at the end of each day -- about something she is grateful for. Not political rants. Not whining or wishing. Just gratitude.
This is what I hope to do. Because, even at my age, I aspire to be a better person.
Don't we all?

Back to School Shopping

Little One announced to me last week we needed to shop for school clothes. I was a little surprised at this, since her high school allows students to wear jeans. We bought 1,000,000 new tops last year and I honestly thought I was done for the high school career.

But, no. Varsity cheerleaders are required to wear dresses on Fridays (football players must wear shirt and tie). And, all her tops are sooo last year. But her shoe stock is plentiful (read that plen-ti-FULL), and her accessories, handbags are all in order. As a (grand) parent I feel underwear is our responsibility, and I'm happy to provide that end of things. (pun intended)

In years past I have served many roles on shopping trips: chauffeur, dressing room organizer, runner for other sizes, opinion giver, one who keeps her mouth shut on occasion, and censor. I've not often had to serve as censor as LO is quite modest and doesn't often look at inappropriate clothing. Usually I just have to ask her to consider the long-term usefulness of a given garment. Most of all I serve as the Almighty Wallet. I pay and pay until I finally draw the line.

This year I am aware it's only a few short years until she goes to college. I haven't really been fair to her by allowing her to be unaware how much things cost.

Because she only needed some tops and a couple of dresses, I set the budget at $200. Yesterday I gave her 2 crisp $100 bills and explained to her I will serve as chauffeur, dressing room runner, and opinion-giver, when I am asked. She is to select what she needs, what she wants, and budget it all within her clothing allowance.

I chose to give her $100 bills so the limitation would not be lost. It's easy to think you have lots of money with a fistful of $20s. I wanted her to see the $100s spend away a bit at a time.

On the way to Nearby City for the mall, Little One realized she had forgotten to bring her handbag and asked me to keep her money for her. No, sorry, I replied, the money is your responsibility. If I held it, her awareness of how much she had left might get lost.

She coped. Fortunately her shorts had pockets with buttons. So we were off.

We. had. a. blast.

Although she never said, so, I think LO really enjoyed having to manage her own money. I think she enjoyed the freedom to spend on what she felt was important, without my influence. I will say we were closer on this trip than on any other, because, I think, she was the Decider.

LO has never been one to look at sale racks. Did I say never? Never.

This time, she bee-lined to sales. She considered the relative value of the items she bought: "I can buy ONE of these, or with the same money, I could get TWO of those. But I like this one better. Hmm." It was truly a pleasure to observe her deliberating.

At the very end, she about $70 left. She tried on two dresses marked down to $23 each, but they required sweaters as one dress had spaghetti straps, and the other was strapless, neither of which is allowed at school without a sweater or jacket. She tried them on with cute sweaters, which of course, were not on sale, priced at $37.50 each.

Both dresses looked great on her. The sweaters were perfect for the respective dresses, as well.

Both dresses were certainly affordable with her remaining money. But the sweaters, cute as they were, were not. And to make it more challenging, the colors were so diverse that one sweater could not suffice for both dresses.

She considered and re-considered. Tried on both outfits again. Finally, and without drama, she selected the dress-sweater that looked the best and would serve the most occasions, and pleasantly returned the other dress and sweater to their racks in the store.



For her money, LO bought:

o 3 very cute tops from American Eagle, a pricey teen store where everything was 40% off.
o 1 little black dress, sheath style and a black-and-white sweater. Both on sale at Charlotte Rousse.
o 1 dressy spaghetti-strap dress from Aeropostale, ditto remarks on American Eagle. Sort of sheer with tiny floral print. Ruffle tiers down its length. Started at over $100, was marked down to $46, but everything in store was 1/2 off. Price: $23.
o 1 ivory cardigan with 3/4 sleeves, also from Aeropostale. $37.50
o 1 white cotton dirndl skirt with Battenburg lace at the hem.
o 1 navy peasant blouse with white embroidery.

Result: she has a comfy, casual skirt-and-top, a grown-up looking black dress, and a dressy, flirty dress. 3 tops for jeans or shorts plus the peasant top which can go with the skirt or jeans.

The experiment exceeded even my own best hopes and I daresay this is how we'll shop in the future.

Quick Update

TY to all of you for calls and love. I am somewhat better today. My head still pounds and aches when I stand up or sit down or lie down, but it is quite diminished. Before, it pounded so hard I was actually afraid I would die -- just fall down dead. Now, that is gone and the pounding, while still painful, is much milder.

And my appetite has returned. Remember when that was not a concern? I am glad that I want a bit to eat; I have been forcing myself to eat just a bit every day despite not wanting it; not fueling one's body can lead to headaches, and I've had enough of that for now. I did track how much I ate and it ranged from 200 to 420 calories/day, but that was all I could take.

I am still not eating much, but I do get a little hungry before I eat, and I am glad to have that back.

TY again for your thoughts and prayers. I have an MRA, which is like an MRI of your arteries, I think, on Wednesday, to continue to see why this all started to begin with.

Tuesday will be a challenge as I have a meeting in the morning and City Council in the afternoon. I need to look well and "on the ball."

My older son and his fam are arriving any day now, and DH and I are getting ready for their visit. I so look forward to it. My red wagon from Traci's infancy is cleaned out and ready for little riders. :) We are taking an outing today to stock up on sippy cups. My first outing in almost 2 weeks. DH questioned the wisdom of going out today, and I posed the choice: go out today and possibly ruin a good day, or I go ALONE tomorrow while he is at work. He went for option A.

Noggin

It's 3:20 in the morning and I still can't get to sleep. I didn't nap today, except for that blissful moment when I did fall asleep and my gf, who has been on vacay, promptly rang the bell -- so that didn't count.

I'm guessing my system is telling me the 10 days I've spent in bed is plenty of rest and hey! we aren't tired anymore!

But I haven't been lying down because I'm tired, but because getting up gives me the damnedest headache you ever saw. It's a sudden and intense pounding and intense pressure inside my head, very painful, and very scary.

I usually avoid blogging when I'm angry, or sad, or don't feel well, as those who read it will think of me that way until I blog again, which sometimes could be quite some time.

Most of you know, though, that I haven't been well lately, so this posting won't come as a surprise.

It all started with a sort of normal headache, not like these, but a sudden, intense, severe pain that quickly caused puking, lots of it, and one, then another trip to the ER. Over the course of the two trips, they gave me a CT scan, 2 spinal taps, and finally an MRI. At first they were checking for an aneurysm, then for a mass, and both were ruled out with these tests.

Finally, coming home with a clean bill of health (sort of --but why do I get these headaches??) I should be ready and able to function normally. But for a week I could not get up without this pounding and pain. A trip to the neurologist diagnosed me with a spinal tap headache.

Ironically, they have renamed spinal tap to "lumbar puncture" to reduce the horror associated with it, but the headache is still called, spinal tap headache.

A spinal tap headache happens after, duh, a spinal tap. 1 in 20 people don't heal up right away, and the spinal fluid leaks into the body, leaving the brain sitting slap against the skull, instead of in a nice fluid sac that cushions it. This causes a nasty headache.

The cure for a spinal tap headache is called a blood patch. They inject your own blood into the site of the spinal tap; the blood clots, thereby plugging up the hole where the spinal fluid was leaking out. The body makes more spinal fluid and voila! the brain has its nice cushion again.

I had this done on Wednesday and should be feeling fine by now.

Of course, I'm special, and typically don't ever follow the rules set out for normal people.

The amount of time I can sit up or stand has gotten longer, we're talking 10 to 30 minutes at a time, but eventually, this pounding and pain starts and I have to scurry for bed to lie down. So I can do mini-tasks, like fold the laundry, or put in another load. Last night, um, make that, Thursday night, I even cleaned out and organized the freezer. The one in our refrigerator, not the chest freezer.

I had a particularly bad day today, whining and fretting and worrying that they'll never figure out what's wrong and I'll have to live this way forever. At one point, I told DH, "I love our bed, but this is getting crazy."

While I'm lying down, what do I think about? All the things I wish I were doing. And I have to admit, I have "asked" DH to do quite a bit today, to the point that he really seemed to get tired of it. Check. Lesson learned. Don't ask for something unless you really need it, dingbat.

My iPod has been my saving grace, and tomorrow I plan to ask LO to play cards with me. Anything to keep my brain occupied and my head healing.

Oops, I have been up too long, and must scurry off to bed. I promise to blog again with updates. Love to all.

The Clock

It's 3am and our crazy clock just struck 33 times. No, that's not a typo. 33 times. Don't mistake the number as having anything wildly related to the actual time; it might well have struck 9 times, or 22, or 3. The record number of strikes at one time so far, is 38.

At one time, this would've driven me bat-sh*t crazy, but clockmakers are highly overpaid, IMHO, and I'm too cheap to drive this old clock 22 miles to the nearest clock repairman (make that 44 miles, round trip, and another 44 miles to go fetch the thing) and fork over another $50 so he can make it strike the correct number of times, when I generally know what time it is, anyway, since we have another clock that plays well with others and strikes the correct time. And, although this clock strikes like mad, it keeps perfect time, so nothing really needs fixed.

I remember when we bought this clock. A local auctioneer used to have auctions at the VFW Post around the corner every couple of months or so, and DH and I considered it a night out. We'd gather up LO and a quilt and some toys for her to play with, and go sit and look at stuff and watch people vie for it and sometimes we'd vie for it, too. That's how we got our English banker's chair, a swivel one, for $12 -- and odd tables around the house, and our brass bed for $60, and some of our Depression glass, and lots of my linens, and our church pew, now proudly, beautifully refinished by yours truly -- and the clock.

We brought the clock home and proudly set it atop something in the kitchen. It worked from the day we got it. The face and pendulum are fronted by a glass door with folk art painted on the inside of the glass. But one can't see the painting from the inside, as it's painted over with black paint. It's old, probably pretty old, and is made of walnut. The backside of the clock is made from some pretty rough wood, and has the remains of an old label inside, although not enough of it remains to be read.

Within a month, moths had infested our kitchen. At first, we had one or two lazily taking a circuit during dinnertime, and we thought nothing of it. Later, though, I found their larvae in everything -- flour, sugar, teabags, even a can of Campbell's soup, even though I never figured how the momma got inside to lay her eggs. That was some kind of maternal determination. They had come from a teeny web-like thing in the corner of the wooden box that I never noticed then, but would carefully search for if we got it today, now that I'm older and wiser.

I threw stuff out and threw stuff out for a year or two, assiduously cleaned, and finally, ahh. It was over. We never had moths again. (Find some wood to knock on, quick.)

In the meanwhile, DH had built a proper shelf for it from walnut he had purchased at a woodcrafter's estate sale. He got a truckload of wood pieces for $1 at the very end of the auction, and we loaded armload after armload into the bed of his little green truck. This piece was from an old bowfront dresser, and the cove molding made a beautiful shelf for the clock.

The erratic striking would once have made me crazy, as I said, but now I listen to it with a sense of humor. After all, who else has such a crazy clock? It only seems more dear to me now.